


The Television Set Flickers

by mandaree1



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Artemis's stellar childhood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most kids get to grow up idolizing the brightly-colored men and women on the screen. Artemis never had that luxury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Television Set Flickers

Artemis lowers the TV volume, as per her sister's orders, and curls her knees to her chest, watching the bright light flicker through the darkened apartment.

"Mom and dad have a job tonight." Jade called from the kitchen, just loud enough to be heard over the hush. "They won't be back before late tomorrow."

That's nothing special, she thought, which was true. They were almost always gone these days. "Are we low on money?"

The older girl pointedly ignored the question. Artemis took that as a yes.

Jade eventually entered the room, carrying two bowls of food and silverware. "Here." She handed her one. "I made dinner."

"Thanks." That made it her turn next time. Even at a young age, she was well versed with the mechanics of cooking. The more she knew, Jade had said, the less likely she was to burn herself.

"Honestly, Artemis, the news?" She scoffed, sitting down next to her. "What are you; ninety?" Nevertheless, neither of them reached for the remote, eating in comfortable silence.

"Ugh." Jade grunts. "Another hero story."

Artemis looks at her. Her brow is drawn, lips tilted downwards in a sort of half-frown. She knows the look; it's a combo shot of irritation and disgust.

"You don't like superheroes?"

"They're overrated." She snaps, shaking her head. "Cops do the same thing, but do you ever hear any stories about them? No. Not unless somebody _dies_."

Artemis winced. "Are mom and dad going to kill anyone tonight?"

Jade relaxed slightly; this topic is easier to discuss, oddly enough. "I can't say for sure with dad, but mom didn't have that desperate look on her face she gets when she's about to do something she'll regret."

She curled in on herself, eyes on the screen. Artemis imagined police officers rushing into the apartment, guided by men and women with capes, cuffing her and her family, dragging them away with ears deaf to their pleas. Depending on the officer, bruises and broken bones might be involved. This is Gotham, after all; the police can't afford to show mercy. She shivered.

"Cops and superheroes scare me." She admitted quietly.

Jade stared at her a long moment, then sighed and switched the TV off. She stood and went to turn on the light, sounding surprisingly somber as she said, "Just... eat your dinner, Artemis."

The light flickered on. Artemis bit into her food.

They ate without another word.

* * *

 

"Mom, why do superheroes wear bright colors?"

"It makes them look friendlier." Paula answered absentmindedly, staring at the TV. The sight of a women being led away in handcuffs flashed across the screen. She tensed without realizing it. "Kindness is key for them."

"But, if they're so brightly colored, how do they sneak up on people?" Artemis, perched in her mother's lap, tilted her head back to look at her. "How do they win their fights if they can't even stalk their enemies?"

Her mother tore her eyes away from the news story to smile at her, chuckling. "Most people don't consider practicality when it comes to designing suits. They want to look safe and approachable."

Artemis furrowed her brow. "Dark colors _are_ safe. They keep you protected and hidden."

"Normal people don't see it that way." Paula told her, running her fingers through long blonde hair. "Those colors are scary for them."

"Scary?"

Paula hummed and pulled her into a hug. "Listen to me, Artemis. The world is filled with scary things. Scary things are strong, and they don't care if they hurt other people. Sometimes... it's just easier to be scary too rather than fight the fear. _That's_ the difference between thieves and heroes."

Artemis blinked at her. "But if you're a scary person, you scare other people. Where's the fun in that?"

Her mother laughed quietly, squeezed her tight, and let go. "Never change, Artemis."

It's one of the last real conversations they have for a long time.

The next news story Artemis watches features her injured mother being taken away in handcuffs.

* * *

 

The TV is the only thing lighting up the room when Artemis slings a vase at her father's shoulder.

Having just come back from a mission, the man is still wearing his shoulder armor, although he's long ditched the mask. He looked entirely unconcerned as he brushed the few shards sticking to the fabric of his shirt away.

"Nice aim, baby girl."

"I don't _want_ to be some assassin." She hissed at him. At this point, she didn't care if he was injured or not. "I don't _want_ to be the kind of person heroes put in jail."

Her father snorted. "Those people are living in a whole other ballpark, baby girl. They'd never understand."

"I don't _care_ if they understand or not." She snapped, posture stiff. She couldn't remember the last time she'd relaxed. "I don't want to spend my life running."

"Can't help what you're born into, baby girl." He shrugged. "Besides, you know how those hero-types are. It's too late for you."

Artemis jolted, remembering hands smearing with blood. They'd been tiny, those hands. "That wasn't my fault."

"It never is." The taller man sneered. "Not the first time, anyway."

She slumped on her feet, feeling older than her years. She turned and went to sit on the couch.

"What do you know, anyway?"

Sportsmaster joined her, rigidly sitting a bit off to the side. His eyes were unsympathetic, features infuriatingly nonchalant. He wasn't angry or upset. When it came to what she wanted, he just didn't care.

"Those heroes would never understand, baby girl." He rumbled finally. "They've had to learn how to live; you only know how to _survive_."

Artemis, motionless, didn't answer.

"Only people like us understand what it really means to live life." He continued. "They all think it ends with handcuffs and a good night's sleep. We're not like that."

His daughter stood up and walked away, never once looking back.

"That fantasy could never be yours, Artemis." He called after her, voice calm. "You know _reality_."

Artemis' bedroom door clicked shut. Had it been anyone else, they might've been offended, but Sportsmaster merely leaned over and shut the television off, bathing in the room in complete darkness.

The place a true Crock belonged.

* * *

 

Artemis felt a bit of nostalgia, bustling about the kitchen. Jade had done this once, prepared meals for her while the adults were away. As though she were a helpless child. She'd known how to take care of herself, even then.

Of course, she wasn't feeding a child, but that was besides the point.

"Thank you, Artemis." Her mother accepted the bowl of cheap spaghetti without so much as batting an eye. Artemis couldn't remember her ever looking this old before she went to prison.

The irony was not lost on her either, it seemed, as the next words out of her mouth were, "When did Jade leave?"

Artemis, sunken back in the couch, sat up to give the woman a searching look. "Dad didn't tell you?"

"You father and I... we spoke, a few times." Paula admitted, staring at her bowl of gross spaghetti (Artemis was never good at making pasta). "But he never told me anything useful. It was all about business."

"Wasn't it always?" She snorted, only half-joking. Her mother didn't answer. Artemis' voice softened. "The night you got arrested."

"You didn't go with?" She asked. She didn't sound surprised.

"Even if I'd wanted to, she wouldn't have let me tag along." She grunted. She didn't add that she sometimes wished she had. "Haven't heard from her since."

"Ah." Paula said. "I see."

Emotions clearly weren't the thing in this household, she thought. Artemis took a bite of her admittedly bad cooking and swallowed without complaint.

"So, uh... when is he coming back?"

"Who, Lawrence?" Paula blinked at her before finally saying, bluntly. "He isn't."

"You're sure?"

"The apartment is in my name, Artemis." She answered firmly. "He won't be coming back."

Artemis swallowed, making herself seem much more nonchalant than she really felt. She couldn't afford to look desperate, or- even worse- afraid. "Dad's never been one to respect things like common decency and _legal_ cases before, mom."

"No, he hasn't." She agreed. "He still doesn't. But he respects _me_."

Even still, she wondered where he'd live now, as he wouldn't have left if he didn't have a place to go. He probably had a base set up somewhere; a place much more livable and luxurious than this stupid apartment. She wouldn't put it past him.

Paula stared at her a long moment before finally uttering, "If you want to go with him, I'd understand."

"Of course not!" She snapped, surprising them both. "I don't care if I ever see him again."

He mother stared at her, taken back by her tone, before slowly nodding. "I believe you."

They finish eating in silence. A news story flashed across the screen. Artemis feels a familiar urge to switch the screen before someone sees- before _he_ sees- but quietly reminded herself that things were different now. They stiffly stared at the television.

Paula snorted, breaking the silence. "They interrupted the game for this?"

Artemis finds it in her to crack a smile. "Jade always said heroes were overrated."

Her mother nodded, a glint of amusement in her eye. "She's not completely wrong there."

Artemis laughed, taking their dishes to put them in the sink. When she returns, Paula is somberly watching the world of spandex and capes pass by before returning to a sport's game neither of them had been interested in.

"We tend to hate what we can't have." The Vietnamese woman murmured.

Artemis looked at her, then the screen, then, finally, the wall. "Yeah. I know."


End file.
